


for feelings bittersweet

by wardo_wedidit



Series: The Empath Verse [2]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation, Emotions, Empath, M/M, Married Life, Rimming, Town Sale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 06:11:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19824181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardo_wedidit/pseuds/wardo_wedidit
Summary: “It’s just—this is the first time in my life that everything has been right. For any substantial amount of time. And I’m afraid if this one thing changes, what if other things start to fall apart too? What if us having this deed to this town is the glue that’s holding my life together?”Or, someone makes a serious offer for to buy Schitt's Creek, and everyone struggles with what that means for the future. It also means David has to wrestle with everyone else's emotions.





	for feelings bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> So I thought I'd tied up everything really nicely in the previous fic in this 'verse, but it turns out I missed these incarnations of David and Patrick specifically, and couldn't stop thinking about what wrapping up the natural plotlines of the show might look like for them and everyone else in this story. This fic is the result of all that. (Oh, and if you haven't read the first one, it is essential for this!)
> 
> Thank you to [Em](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goingmywaydoll/pseuds/goingmywaydoll) for reading through this and making it ten times better with your suggestions! I truly wouldn't have finished it so quickly if we weren't so fucking galaxy brain. I love you ridiculously. 
> 
> Title is my own (for once), however: [Maggie Rogers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NBUF-MdjbLQ) and [Yoke Lore](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BSegx1n7RR0) were my theme songs while writing this.

Ray makes David a little skittish.

It’s not a fair reaction, really, since he’s a perfectly nice (if overly effusive) guy, but it’s an instinct born from being walked in on and interrupted on more than one occasion when Patrick lived at his place. David can’t help it—when someone’s seen him that particular brand of disheveled more than once, it just becomes learned behavior to be a little bit on edge. Even if he and Patrick are married now, have their own place, and Ray is not the potential buzzkill he once was, the anxiety lingers.

So when he walks into the store one afternoon, chirping friendly hellos and looking for a gift, David makes small talk, but he’s wary. It’s not his fault. He shoots Patrick slightly anxious eyes, but his husband just chuckles and goes back to what he was doing on his laptop.

“I’m so happy to hear the store is doing so well!” Ray gushes as he browses.

David does swell up a little bit at that. The store is kind of his favorite thing to talk about. He’s so proud of it, and he’s grateful to be on a little more solid ground, conversation-wise. “Thank you, Ray, that means a lot,” he says, actually managing sincerity and calm.

Then Ray shatters it.

“Yes, I feel it added substantial value to the terms outlined in the upcoming sale of the town!” He says it so casually, like it means nothing at all, and David feels everything drop inside him.

“The sale of the town?” he says, words coming out on autopilot, colored with shock. He sees Patrick freeze out of the corner of his eye over by the register as they both wait for Ray to speak.

“Oh yes,” Ray says easily, idly looking through the soy-blend candles, completely unaware of the shock in them both. “I assume your parents would have told you! The offer is quite serious,” he adds cheerily, and David’s stomach twists unpleasantly.

“What do you mean, ‘serious?’” Patrick asks, and David tries very hard to look at Ray so he can analyze every word and every expression on his face.

“Well, they asked me to walk them through the process if they accepted,” he says, “as well as asking me to draw up the paperwork, and they don’t have a final decision yet, apparently, but if I were a gambling man—which, I sometimes am, and I _have_ been having better luck at Bob’s poker nights as of late—”

“ _Ray_ ,” Patrick interrupts with a warning in his voice.

“Right, as I was saying, I would probably bet on them selling,” he finishes, shrugging amiably. He doesn’t seem fazed by either of their reactions, and David feels frozen, operates on autopilot for the rest of the interaction. Patrick rings him up, thank god, while David busies himself with straightening the skincare table, even though it really doesn’t need it.

He waits for the bell to signal Ray’s departure before turning around. Patrick’s back is to him, facing the stockroom, but his shoulders are set, tense. The energy coming off of him right now is like static electricity, fuzzy and discordant. David walks forward with slow, hesitant feet, one step and then another, mouth tucked to the side with uncertainty and hands behind his back.

He reaches forward to put a calming, supportive hand on Patrick’s shoulder, and that’s when he feels it.

It’s a rush of anger, sharp and blinding white, cutting through him like a knife. He’s felt annoyance from Patrick before, that twinge of frustration mixed with exhaustion, but not this. People always think anger is red but it isn’t, it’s hot and it’s bright and it’s searing, and David jumps.

“David,” Patrick says, turning around with a look of worry on his features as David pulls his fingers back. Patrick had melted at the touch for a split second before stopping and trying to distance himself, like it was instinctual, and something in David breaks a little at that.

“I…” Patrick tries, words dying in his throat, and David’s nodding, nails biting into the palms of his flesh, trying not to think about the way his eyes are stinging. Patrick scrubs over his face, looking crestfallen. “David, please don’t touch me right now,” he says on an exhale, and David nods some more, tips his chin up and presses his lips together.

Patrick’s elbows go on the register counter and he holds his head carefully in his hands. “I thought they would have said something,” he says, the words tight and directed down at the desk. “To you, at least.”

“Yeah,” David replies, a rasp, a hollow, empty breath. His skin feels burned where he touched Patrick and he rubs his hands together as if he could erase the sensation, quickly, before moving to twist his wedding band around his finger. Patrick is less staticky now, at least, energy coalescing into taut waves that radiate off him.

He doesn’t want to cry. David really, _really_ does not want to cry, because all of this is unconfirmed and anyway, it’s not like anything would change. He would stay here with Patrick, obviously, with his store and his husband and their apartment but. He can’t help feeling like _everything_ would be a little bit different.

“Um,” he tries, and Patrick looks up at him, and suddenly David feels very exposed. “I think I should go try to find Alexis? Because maybe she knows something?” he says, voice all wobbly, and fuck, Patrick looks miserable. It swims under the anger, dark and cold.

“David,” he tries, face almost pleading, but David’s shaking his head.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he tries, but his voice doesn’t sell it, so he just shakes his head and makes for the door, waving his hands as if to distract. “I just need to talk to Alexis!”

David closes the door behind him. He’ll call Alexis in a minute, ask if she wants to meet somewhere, but right now he just needs to walk, needs to make use of all the wild energy inside him. He doesn’t mind feeling Patrick’s anger or frustration, would never want him to feel like he has to hide those things or keep them from him. But right now, only feeling his own is like taking a deep breath, like he has a little more room inside for everything to fit. He doesn’t mind unraveling Patrick’s emotions from his own, but he needs to sort out how he’s feeling right now and it’s easier this way.

He doesn’t want this. He’d thought about it before, idly, how it was something that could theoretically happen, but it’s been so long since there was any real interest that it didn’t feel real. He doesn’t know why he’s so anxious about it, frankly, since his mind is made up and he’s not going anywhere.

It’s just… as much as he once hated it here, was willing to drive Roland’s broken down pickup as far as it would go just to get out, now that things could potentially really shift, change is the last thing he wants. Even with how much he’s grown, how different his life is than it once was, now he almost feels like time’s been suspended here—like despite the seasons, this was all one long, dreamy summer vacation before returning to real life.

He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and stops short, taking three long, deep breaths. Of course this would happen, of course he’s having a breakdown on the sidewalk. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and clears his throat, willing his voice to stay stable.

//

“They didn’t say anything to you either?” he repeats for what is probably the twelfth time over a plate of fries at the cafe. Alexis is actually stressed enough to eat a few, even though all she ordered was one of Twyla’s weird smoothies. David would normally swat her hand away, but he can’t focus right now, still doesn’t feel like himself.

“Ugh, David, no! I’ve said so like a thousand times!” she repeats, clearly annoyed with his persistent questioning, shaking her head a little so that her earrings jingle. She eyes the plate in front of them with precision. David knows she likes the crispy ones, nudges a few over in her direction, which she takes with careful fingers.

“Why wouldn’t they tell us if it’s a serious offer?” he asks again. “You’d think they wouldn’t tell us if it _wasn’t_ serious—”

“What do you mean, serious?” she asks, wrinkling her nose. “Last time they were desperate for anyone to buy it, remember? They nearly sold it to that gross guy who literally died in Jocelyn’s house.” She shudders at the thought before popping a fry into her mouth.

David sighs, short and frustrated. Nothing about her posture suggests even the slightest bit of worry; she looks as relaxed and nonchalant as she’s ever been as she sits across from him in a booth. Even the tone of her voice suggests they could be talking about anything: tomorrow’s weather, the store, that story about how she accidentally held a poisonous lizard in the Galapagos and tried to make it her pet before Ted realized and freaked out. But David can feel a blurry sort of… cloud, around her, and he swears he can feel the way her mind is whirring. He remembers that particular sensation from her nightmare adventures abroad, when she was trying to wiggle her way out of a bad situation. It makes him feel sick to his stomach even now, as long as it’s been.

“That was a long time ago,” he says after a minute, voice low. He drops the fry he’s holding back onto the plate, gathering the napkin in his lap to wipe at his greasy fingers. He suddenly can’t eat another bite.

“Yeah,” Alexis allows, voice going quieter. “But Mom.”

She doesn’t have to say anything else. The _Crows_ movie had been a potential escape route for her, but when it was shelved it was like a wrench was thrown smack-dab in the middle of her plans, and she was suddenly back to day one here, hiding in a closet. The disgraced and publicly humiliated Moira Rose.

She’s bounced back somewhat, of course. David would expect nothing less of her. She talks and walks and speaks like her old self, and she doesn’t broadcast her emotions to him but he knows her so well, better than the back of his hand. He can see the undercurrent of sadness and disappointment, the inertia in her, and it pains him every time.

He’d hoped it would fade. There was a moment at the wedding when he thought maybe it would. Patrick had wanted to do a mother and son dance, so David and Moira had obliged, even though he knew swaying while the band played “What a Wonderful World” was not really her thing. She was a great sport though, smiling for the audience as she whispered little comments to David throughout. Just small asides about the flowers, or a bit of hot gossip about Gwen’s plus-one. David had laughed at that, because he hadn’t known that Bob had been forced to wedge his way in as Ivan’s date, and his mother had beamed at him when he opened his eyes, and gotten this benevolent, rare look in her eye.

“David,” she said simply, “here.”

And just like that, she’s slipped off one glove and fiercely pressed her hand back against his, holding on hard, and David was _flooded_ with emotion, with pure, unadulterated rays of happiness followed by the deep, rich current of love. It started in the palm of his hand and then wound its way up its arms and down to his toes, tingling and sparkling and filling him to the brim. He’d choked up immediately, feeling bowled over by the force of it, letting out a little gasp. Then, just as quickly as it happened, it was over. She slipped her glove back on with a wink but the warmth in him stayed the rest of the night, bubbling and unmistakable and profound.

He’d hoped it meant more than it did. But he and Patrick had returned from their honeymoon and things were back to normal.

“What are you gonna do?” he asks Alexis back in the present, trying to think about something, anything else.

She surveys their plate with narrowed eyes, expression thoughtful. “I don’t know. I used to think I’d stay here with Ted, but after the Galapagos, a _lot_ of career opportunities have opened up for him, David.” He lets her words wash over him for a bit without listening too closely, about this and that offer from such and such clinic in so and so city, but it feels good just to hear her talk.

After a while she trails off, eyeing him with conviction. “You’re staying.”

He feels immediately sharp with annoyance. “Ugh, of course I am!” he snaps, but she doesn’t look annoyed by his reaction at all, a kind, almost bittersweet smile on her face. Nothing else is an option, even if he wanted it to be—they have the store, they have their apartment. He has Patrick here, and he wouldn’t leave for anything.

His phone buzzes in his pocket with a text. _Would you mind picking up Brenda’s new shipment this afternoon?_ it reads, which must mean that Patrick still wants more space. Or time. Or something.

“Alexis, do you have the car?” he asks even though he knows she does, standing suddenly and throwing down some cash on the table. Maybe this will be good, maybe this will be a distraction, maybe he’ll think about anything but the town sale for a couple of hours.

Alexis steps out of the booth carefully, steadying herself with a hand on his shoulder even though she seems perfectly fine. She doesn’t look at him, but he feels her press down lightly, and a surge of tenderness blossoms from her touch, rushing through him and swirling around his heart. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, and when he opens them again she’s gone, flouncing out towards the car like it didn’t even happen, and David feels so quietly grateful.

//

He’s exhausted by the end of the day. Alexis rode along with him for pickups, and Brenda wanted to show him a new product she’s fine-tuning, so by the time they’re on the way back the store is already closed. He texts Patrick to say not to wait around, he’ll see him at home and that Alexis can help unload this batch, though of course in practice that just means David does basically all of it himself. Alexis drops him off at the apartment, and when he walks through the door, Patrick gives him a very tired smile from the kitchen where he’s putting the finishing touches on dinner and says, “Hey,” his voice all rough and spent.

“Hi,” David murmurs back, kind of hovering around the edge of the room. Normally he would be in Patrick’s way without a second thought, angling to tease him or sneak indulgent kisses, the kind that make Patrick laugh into his mouth. But he’s still not sure if Patrick wants space, so he twists his hands together and turns around, trying not to focus on the cloud of fatigue hovering around his husband.

Patrick sighs and says, “David,” and there’s a second’s pause before David can hear his footsteps, and then Patrick is drawing him into a hug, arms tight and strong around David’s chest. David immediately melts into the touch, can feel the protectiveness and permanence of Patrick’s love flood his insides. He knows Patrick’s doing this on purpose, can’t count the number of times since he told him about his abilities that Patrick’s used them to comfort him without words. It’s familiar and David lets himself sink into it, lets his heartbeat slow down as Patrick’s emotions intertwine with his own.

“I’m sorry,” Patrick murmurs into David’s shoulder blade. “I didn’t want—I never want you to feel it, when I’m angry like that.”

David turns in his arms so he can hold Patrick back, pressing his nose into Patrick’s neck and breathing him in. He’s that kind of tired where his eyes are leaking at the corners but he’s not crying, just so overwhelmed and oversensitive that his body can’t take it anymore. “But you’re not… mad at me,” he says hesitantly, even though he’s about 95% sure.

Patrick’s silent for a second and David’s heart is in his throat before a current of pure, unadulterated love hits him so fast he almost stumbles back with the force of it. _Fuck_ , it’s times like these that David understands that these powers aren’t a burden, not completely, because how else would he know how completely and how deeply Patrick loves him? There’s no other way for him to conceive of something that big, that unconditional and all-consuming.

“Baby,” Patrick says, pulling away just enough so he can see David’s face, tipping their foreheads together. Fuck, he loves when Patrick calls him “baby”—he doesn’t do it all the time so it still feels special, and David doesn’t know how to tell him the way his heart jumps when he says it. “God, no. Why would I be mad at you?”

David shrugs, still feeling kind of wrung out and exhausted and like he doesn’t have the mental capacity to adequately express his thought process, right now at this moment. It’s just been a bad day. He hasn’t had a bad day like this in a long time; he’d nearly forgotten how shitty they feel.

“No, I—” Patrick pulls away, tugs David’s hand over to the couch so they’re sitting side by side. David leans into him a little bit, lets Patrick take his hand and fiddle with his fingers, because he’s learned over all this time that David likes to touch him even when things are hard. This close, David can feel the frustration creeping back into him, blunt and knotted up inside him. “I was mad that your parents didn’t say anything to us—to you. I was upset that _you_ were upset by it, and had to hear about it casually from Ray in the store in the middle of a workday.” He lets out a harsh breath. “What about you?”

David swallows hard. “I just feel… blindsided, I guess.”

Patrick waits, watches his face intently as David tries to string the words together, with such care and gentleness in his face that David nearly starts to cry. He covers his face with his hands instead, as a compromise. “It’s just—this is the first time in my life that everything has been _right_. For any substantial amount of time. And I’m afraid if this one thing changes, what if other things start to fall apart too? What if us having this deed to this town is the _glue_ that’s holding my life together?”

A sob fights its way out of his throat. Just one, before he gets ahold of himself to stop it.

Patrick asked him once, after he knew everything, if David felt like he had a better handle on his emotions because of his powers. “You see everyone else’s,” he said gently, mostly into David’s bed-warm skin in the middle of the night. “Does it—help?”

David had shaken his head, his immediate, visceral response being _god, no, anything but, absolutely the opposite_. Sometimes he’s felt like his whole life, all he’s done was shove his own feelings down to make room for other people’s so he didn’t explode, all the too-much of it all spilling out everywhere and breaking him. “I don’t know,” he’d whispered back instead, because he didn’t know how to explain that this is the first time in his life, the first place where he felt like he didn’t have to do that. That he could feel things, he could smile, he could love, and no one would make it turn sour.

“David,” Patrick says, pulling him back to the here and now as he puts an arm around his shoulders, and his voice is so tender and patient and just hearing it makes David feel better. He’s been married to him almost a year and he’s still not used to that. “Listen to me. No matter what, no matter if your family owns Schitt’s Creek or if Alexis and Ted decide to move to the Southern Hemisphere or what. I’m gonna be here and—and we’ll get through it together.”

David peeks out from behind his fingers to see Patrick’s face, the fierceness and the conviction in it. He remembers saying those same words to Patrick before he’d come out to his parents and feeling so confident, happy to be something solid when Patrick felt lost at sea, and now Patrick’s giving them to him back even when he’s also adrift in the unknown.

Patrick smiles. It’s a little bit sad, but it’s a smile. “I think you have too much good here to lose it all at once this time, David,” he says, and David can’t fight it anymore, presses himself as close as he can get and lets Patrick hold him.

He doesn’t cry, but he sniffles into him and lets Patrick rub his back until his breathing evens out. Dinner is cold by the time they untangle themselves, but David doesn’t mind.

//

“We might have to close a little early tonight,” Patrick tells him the next day after David finishes ringing up a customer, leaving them with a moment to breathe. Rumors about the sale have been flying around all day to the point where David wonders if Ray possibly took out a billboard, and everyone and their cousin seems to have come out to be nosy, curious to wrangle out any possible info. David’s not mad about it as long as they buy something, but it is exhausting to have them all scrutinizing them both constantly, as if they could just puzzle it out.

“Why?”

Patrick lifts his phone in answer. “Your dad asked if we could all come to a meeting at the motel tonight at 5:30. He sent it to you, too.”

David reaches for his phone behind the counter, flicking around impatiently until he brings up the message. His dad started a chain: himself, Mom, David, Alexis, Patrick, Ted, and Stevie. He swallows hard. “Do you think—”

“I’d guess they made a decision,” Patrick says, kind of grimly. He’s not angry today so much as he is sort of defeated. It hangs around him like a heavy raincloud, like he’s steeling himself for the worst possible news. Patrick had passed a hand over his hip earlier on the way back to the stockroom and David had felt the bloom of reassurance underneath it, simmering away. Usually, Patrick is the type to wear positive emotions on his sleeve and shove whatever worry or hesitation he has down deep enough that he thinks maybe David won’t notice. He must be pretty badly agitated for the reverse to happen.

The rest of the day feels like it crawls by at a snail’s pace, even though there are plenty of customers. He can feel them both dreading the meeting this evening. They close the store mostly in silence. It’s not angry, though; David is using every bit of concentration he has to center himself, collect himself, and he can tell Patrick’s trying hard not to spiral.

Finally, they’re walking over to the motel, and Patrick is broadcasting nothing but pure jitters. The furrow between his brows keeps appearing, and he’s tightening his fists only to force them open, and finally, David just has to grab his hand. It’ll stop him from twisting around his own wedding ring, anyway.

Patrick sort of releases into the touch, and the nerves wind through David—it’s not like that’s anything new right now, nothing David doesn’t already have in spades. He watches his husband take a deep breath and then a short, determined nod, as if to say _pull it together now, Brewer_ , and David’s heart clenches.

Everyone’s sort of crowded around, hovering outside the door when they get there, quiet and jumpy. Finally, his dad emerges, wearing a pristine suit as always, his smile only slightly off, and David bites the inside of his cheek so hard it might bleed.

“Come in, come in,” Johnny says as everyone nervously files into the front office. “Have a seat,” he says, as if they all haven’t spent quite a bit of time here, and David nabs a cinnamon roll even though it’s the end of the day so they’re not soft and gooey anymore. No one even teases him about it, which clearly means everyone else is just as tightly wound.

He strategically places himself on the couch next to Stevie, who basically looks like she’s going to throw up. Ted sits on the other side of him so that David’s thighs are pressed along each of theirs, because the couch is small. So, great—between them and the projections he already gets from Alexis and Patrick, David can tell what everyone is thinking except for Mom and Dad, the two people who he most wants to read.

“Right,” Dad says decisively, closing the door grabbing a thick folder from the front desk. “So, we’ve received an offer for the sale of the town.”

He pauses, looks up at them, clearly expecting shock. Nobody even blinks.

David can feel a low, simmering frustration pulsing from Patrick to his right. Stevie’s energy is tossing and turning with queasy nerves, and Ted’s anxiety is like a low-level whir beside him.

“And?” David finally snaps, because he needs this to move faster before his body becomes so overcrowded with all these foreign emotions that he just has to scream.

“Oh, I guess I just thought—you’d all be more surprised,” Johnny says, impressive brow furrowed, fumbling through some of his papers.

“Oh my god, Dad, we all already know that part,” Alexis informs him casually, picking at her cuticles. She’s gonna be frustrated with herself for that later, David knows.

Moira and Johnny turn to each other with quizzical looks, and after a beat of silence, Patrick says, “Ray’s been telling basically everyone he runs into,” his voice tight with disapproval.

“Ah,” Johnny says with embarrassment. “Well, I suppose that does, er—streamline a few things.”

He shuffles forward in his folder and launches into the details of it all: the buyer, the offer, what their proposed plan and vision is, but David can’t listen because the auras from Stevie, Patrick, Ted, and Alexis are all snarling themselves up in his body. He can see Alexis picking at her thumbnail, Ted jiggling his leg, Stevie biting her lip until it breaks the skin. He hopes Patrick is getting all of this, Dad’s speech, because David’s going to need clarity on it later. Everyone’s anxiety feels like it’s reaching a fever pitch as Dad works his way through the last few pages, and then David is holding his breath. There is a long pause.

“Well?” Stevie says, the first she’s spoken since they got there, and David feels the pleading spilling out of her, desperate, yet braced for disappointment all at once.

Dad’s face goes confused again, cocking his head to the side. “Well… what?”

Ted clears his throat, wincing. “I think she means, well, what have you decided?”

“Oh!” Dad says, brows shooting up, a gentle look coming over his face. “Is that… what you thought this meeting was about? No, no, we—”

“You see,” Mom says, and everyone jumps a little to hear her speak, “One of the fortuitous consequences of our past few years here, is that the number of those we consider to be both essential and dear to us has increased by three.”

She gives them all an indulgent smile as the words settle softly over the room. The frenzy of feeling that had been crowding into David’s throat retreats, replaced with pure relief from nearly all sides, and the buzzing in his ears fades out. Patrick heaves a deep sigh, dropping his head, and Ted smiles goofily, but mostly David watches Stevie’s eyes well up with tears she scrubs at impatiently, frowning hard and willing them away before they can start.

“So, I think the better question is, well, what do _you_ all think?” Dad asks, palms up before he claps them together, and there’s a beat before everyone starts talking all at once.

There’s a moment in the chaos where David catches Patrick’s eye, just for a second. Patrick grins at him, and David feels relief and apology and hope all clustered together in him, and David grins back.

//

They leave the discussion in a good place, and Dad says they’ll take everyone’s input into consideration. Mom had caught his eye and given him a hopeful little wink on their way out, which made David breathe a little bit easier. If she thinks things are going to be okay, then he trusts her.

Patrick hangs his keys by the door as they enter the apartment, letting loose a sigh. His smile is tired again, but more relaxed this time as he looks at David. “Okay?”

“Mhm,” David nods, reaching out to thumb over the corner of Patrick’s delicate mouth, smiling himself. Patrick circles his wrist with easy fingers, brushing over the bump of David’s wrist bone slowly.

“What do you want to happen?” Patrick murmurs, face open. There’s a protectiveness in him that rolls into David, deep and dark and navy blue, like he wants to wrap David up and hug him tight and keep him forever, and David loves it so much. He wants to be kept.

David shrugs, and when he speaks, his voice is soft. “I want whatever they want,” he says simply. He could say more, about how he trusts them not to lose each other this time and how he’s learned that sometimes happiness means taking unexpected turns, but he doesn’t. He thinks of their store and the rings on his fingers and the way Patrick touches him when he knows David needs it. “I already have everything I want,” he says instead, and Patrick’s face goes so soft and moved and fond along with the rest of him, pressing forward for a kiss, soft and careful and warm.

David lets him walk them backward to the bed, crawling onto it and shivering at the way Patrick feels on top of him: a warm, solid, surrounding weight. He leans up and lets himself be kissed, trying to pull Patrick even further on top of him, desperate for more, always more of Patrick.

“Tell me,” Patrick says, breathless. His lips are lush and pink, face twisted into the most beautiful longing. “David, tell me what you want.”

The need tumbling from him and into David is enough to make him dizzy, Patrick’s desperation intertwining with his own and moving through him in gorgeous, scorching curls, deliciously slow. He knows it’s sometimes too much for David to take, but tonight it’s what they need—he wants Patrick inside him in any way he can have him. “Please fuck me,” he gasps out, arching his back. “Please, I need you, Patrick, please.”

“God, David,” Patrick breathes, moving to kiss him everywhere he can reach: his nose, his temple, the corner of his eye. “Yes, anything, anything.”

Patrick undresses him with careful, fumbling fingers, and David lets him, limbs loose and pliant. He loves when Patrick feels like this, is so full of that warm, burning possessiveness. Like taking care of David is all he wants to do. David whines, bucks up and tugs at Patrick’s button-down until Patrick’s rolling his eyes and obliging, helping him off with it. David wants his skin to mark up and kiss and feel, he wants Patrick’s goosebumps and sweat and all of it, all of it.

Something about tonight feels so heady and intense, and David doesn’t know why, really. All he knows is that he's been so immersed in everyone else’s emotions today that it was sometimes hard to think, but Patrick’s have never made him feel that way. At this point, they feel as familiar and right to him as his own, which is something he never, ever thought he could have. And tonight that’s all he wants: Patrick on top of him and all over him and inside him.

Patrick kisses him until he’s shaking with want, and David has to beg for something, anything more. “It’s okay, I got you, shhh,” Patrick murmurs and then he’s kissing his way down David’s chest, pausing to tweak a nipple, to bite lightly at his hipbone, and David has to squeeze his eyes shut to contain himself. So it’s unexpected when he feels Patrick’s mouth _there,_ wet and hot and perfect.

David yelps, eyes flying open and hips jumping up a little, but Patrick just smirks at him and moves to hold him down with strong, capable hands. “Oh god, Patrick, fuck,” he whines, the sound high and drawn-out and embarrassing enough to make him color, and in response this lovely fusion of amusement and adoration flows through Patrick’s fingertips and straight into his blood.

Patrick’s a goddamn _tease_ when he eats him out, is the problem. He knows how to play David perfectly, how to work him with his tongue but give him just enough to keep him on edge. Once he rimmed David until he cried, then jerked him off until right before he came, then went back to rimming him. David was sobbing by the end. He’s been edged before, plenty of times, but there’s something about his sweet, take-charge husband doing it that makes it so much better in every single way. The way he soothes him, the little reassurances, the way he holds him after. It’s one of David’s very favorite things.

“You said,” David pants after a few minutes. The pure, fierce sensation is making him feel dazed and helpless. His fingers are wound tightly in Patrick’s hair, pulling. “You said you would—”

Patrick raises his head and looks fucking wrecked, all flushed and turned on and perfect, and David can’t get enough of everything swirling inside him. How much he loves doing this for David, how he wants to make him feel so good he can barely think, only feel. “Hand me the—”

David scrambles for the bedside table before he can finish his sentence, which earns him a pleased smile from Patrick as he tosses him the lube. Then he gets Patrick’s slick, talented fingers circling him slowly, and then finally, _finally_ pressing inside. “Thank god,” he moans, and Patrick climbs up to kiss him quiet.

“You’re doing so good, you’re being so patient, baby,” Patrick says, and jesus, David wishes that Patrick had his ability too, if only to feel the way David’s whole body sparks when Patrick calls him baby.

“Say it again,” David whispers against his lips, feels Patrick’s love for him bloom in his chest at the same time a fond, delighted smile breaks over his face.

“Baby,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to David’s lips. “Baby, baby,” and he’s moving his fingers so perfectly, and David feels loose and blissed out and kisses him lazily, lets Patrick be the one to pick the pace and drive them. And then he’s brushing right over that spot that lights David up, makes him gasp and cling to Patrick’s arm, the first thing he can reach. He cries out as Patrick continues, going so maddeningly slow but it’s all building so beautifully inside him that he’s worried he might not make it, even though his dick has still not been touched.

“Patrick, I don’t want to— _please_ ,” he says, for what feels like the millionth time, and it’s not a coherent thought but Patrick knows what he means, is letting out a low, murmured “fuck” and slicking himself up, hovering over David and angling to push in.

Their eyes catch right before he does, and Patrick’s pupils are so beautifully dark that it makes David’s heart skip for a moment. “David,” he says, voice trembling and overcome, and David opens his mouth to respond but then Patrick’s pushing inside him in one long, sure stroke that makes David groan and his toes curl.

He takes a deep breath and shifts a little because he just loves the feeling of how—Christ, how _full_ inside Patrick makes him, the most gorgeous ache. Patrick moves slowly until he bottoms out, then leans down so his forearms are bracketing David on the bed, and it feels like an explosion inside David, but the good kind. He draws his knees up. They’re touching everywhere and they’re both feeling so much that his body may catch fire. Patrick kisses at his neck and his ear before kissing David’s lips, slow and drawn-out as he fucks into David’s mouth with his tongue.

“David,” he says, a breathy, fragile thing, and David whimpers, hips stuttering slightly as he pushes back into Patrick’s thrusts. He nuzzles his face into David’s neck, lips moving softly there. “Can you feel—”

“I feel everything,” David gasps, all caught up in all the sensation—in what Patrick’s doing to him and everything inside all at once. He tries to spread himself impossibly wider, greedy for more of both.

“ _God,_ ” Patrick groans, losing his rhythm for a moment as he chokes out the word. “Tell me, baby, tell me—”

David tries to pull himself together enough to try and form a coherent thought. “It’s so—warm, you’re always so warm and it’s so—” his breath hitches as he feels the gratitude roll through Patrick like a wave, “— _Fuck_ , Patrick, I can’t, I can’t,” because Patrick’s moving in him so perfectly, his hands on David’s hips now, rolling through gorgeously and David can’t think. The only friction on his dick is from Patrick’s abs on every rough slide, and he needs more. “Can I, _please_ —”

Patrick captures his lips in a hungry kiss, enough to make David lose his train of thought. “Yeah, god, do you wanna come?”

He whines and nods frantically in response, moving to jerk himself in time with Patrick’s thrusts. Patrick runs his hands up David’s arms, scraping his nails along skin, and then pulling him into a kiss with one hand on the back of his neck, the other at his jaw. David kisses him until he can’t breathe, and then Patrick pulls away just enough to murmur against his mouth. “David,” he says, like there are no other words, and David’s parts his lips to respond but then is punched in the gut with the force of Patrick’s emotions. It’s like a current coursing through his body: desire and love and bone-deep certainty, and it’s too much, and he comes, crying out with his eyes squeezed shut.

Patrick gropes for David’s free hand and twines their fingers together, hiding his face in David’s neck as he comes too, groaning. He collapses on top of David for just a few moments, long enough to catch his breath, before he’s pressing light kisses to the corners of David’s eyes where tears have leaked out, unbidden. David wants to open his eyes but he can’t, can’t face the softness and fondness so molten inside hm reflected on Patrick’s face. Patrick pets his hair, slowly, and waits for his breathing to return to normal.

“Okay?” he asks and David nods, finally facing the music and looking at him. The grin that overtakes Patrick’s face is so fucking perfect and beautiful that it’s like staring straight at a lighthouse: something magnetic pulling you in but the brightness and purity of it almost blinding.

“Mhm,” David hums back, still too far gone for real words, and Patrick presses a close, quick kiss to his cheek before moving to pull out.

“No,” David protests, half-whine, half-gasp, with a firm hand on Patrick’s lower back for good measure. “Not yet.”

Patrick laughs quietly, pressing his nose to David’s cheek. “I was gonna go clean us up.”

“Stay,” he whines, knowing exactly how silly and petulant he sounds. “You feel so… right.”

Patrick’s raises his head in response, moving back so he can see David better. “Yeah?” he asks, slightly curious, like he knows David doesn’t just mean sex.

He nods, pressing his lips together and trying to think of a way to say it that will make sense, put words to this thing for which no words exist. “It doesn’t feel like… it does with other people,” he tries. “With them, it feels like this _thing_ that’s crowding into me, like, pushing its way in to create room but. Yours always feel like they belong there. Like, I miss them when I don’t have them and… they feel like a part of me.” He swallows hard.

David doesn’t even know the word for the feeling that melts into him then—it’s like caramel, amber and rich and so deliciously sweet that David feels the heat rising in his cheeks. Patrick caresses over the flush with smooth fingers, using his other hand to press a kiss to David’s knuckles.

“I love you so much,” he says in response, the words muffled from where he’s pressing them into David’s skin, his eyes a little wet. “God, do you even—do you even _know_ how much I love you?” he says, voice husky and desperate with emotion, and David smiles, leans up to press their lips together.

“I do,” he whispers into the kiss.

//

The next few days aren’t as nerve wracking as David thought they might be, but he still finds himself startling a little every time his phone buzzes, sure it will be the verdict. The town seems to have quieted down about it, choosing to buzz amongst themselves instead, and David would guess that they’re giving them space, but he knows them all better than that. Something’s up.

Patrick seems to have calmed down now that he doesn’t think the Roses are trying to pull a fast one on them, but he’s heard him on the phone with Stevie in the stockroom a couple times. David’s only getting one end of the conversation, of course, but it sounds like he’s just checking in, making sure she’s not too worried, only probing a little bit to see where Johnny and Moira’s heads are at.

David knows she doesn’t mean to keep it from him to hurt him, but it still stings a little bit that Stevie she hasn’t said anything to him. He gives it about a week before he storms into the motel office one day after work.

“We’re going out,” he says decisively, and Stevie shoots him a look.

“What’s with you?”

David shrugs, going for his least suspicious expression, though he’s sure she sees right through it. “Nothing! We just haven’t been out… in a while,” he says fumblingly.

“Hmm,” Stevie hums, looking at him sideways as she staples some papers together. “So it’s definitely not a distraction tactic because everything’s up in the air right now.”

“...No,” he replies, shaking his head jerkily back and forth. “Nope, don’t know what you mean. Just thought you could use some time cruising for randoms.”

Stevie scoffs at him. “You’re a terrible wingman.”

“Excuse you,” he says, mock-offended. “ _I_ can’t help it if I just have this—irresistible charisma, okay, if townies are just drawn to me like a magnet—”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Oh my god, gross. Fine, I’ll go as long as you’re buying the drinks.”

So that’s how they end up in a bar in Elmdale, David buying her beer after beer as she beats him in endless rounds of pool. Some of her worries about potentially running the motel on her own come out haltingly, and David doesn’t know if she’s having trouble finding the words because of the beer or because of the emotion of it all. It doesn’t help that she keeps getting interrupted by her phone buzzing, which seems to increasingly annoy her as the night goes on.

“Who keeps calling you?” he finally asks, half-yelling in her ear over the music.

“Just some prank,” she says, a little bit slurred. “It’s been happening for a month now, it’s getting on my fucking nerves.”

David waits for more, but the song changes and her eyes go wide. “ _Ooooooh,_ oh my god, c’mon,” she says, grabbing his hand, and then they’re scream-singing along to [4 Non-Blondes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6NXnxTNIWkc) on the dance floor, and David didn’t think he was drunk enough for that, but apparently he is.

He calls Patrick to drive them home, though Stevie steals the phone away from him to tease Patrick about how wasted David is, even though she’s clearly much further gone. He pours her into Patrick’s backseat and shoves in beside her. “ _Please_ don’t vomit, okay, you know I don’t do well with it—” he pleads as Patrick chuckles, but Stevie just flips him off before she’s passing out on his shoulder, snoring slightly.

“Good night?” Patrick asks softly, catching David’s eyes in the rearview mirror, a playful glint there.

David feels the roll of feelings coursing through her, unguarded in her sleep, can feel mostly happiness and relaxation and all the things he wants for her, always. He’s glad he could help remind her of them right now, even if it’s just for a few hours.

“Good night,” he agrees, soft in the darkness, and watches Patrick’s pleased smile appear.

//

It’s only a couple days after that he gets a text from Stevie, one that reads _so i guess your parents decided_ , and then only a few seconds later, _for real this time._

He looks at them for a minute before shoving his phone in his back pocket again. He doesn’t want Patrick to know that they’ve taken yet another step without informing everyone, but at the same time, Stevie isn’t everyone. She and Dad are a team with the motel, and she deserves to know the answer just as much as anyone. He works the rest of the morning, and then informs Patrick he has lunch plans with Stevie, texting her for her order at the cafe on the way over.

“Well?” he asks when he comes through the office door. Stevie makes grabby hands for the takeout box he’s carrying.

“Wow, so good to see you,” she prompts, voice mischievous, and David rolls his eyes.

“Yes, fine, how are you, good to see you, what did they decide?”

“Oh, I was talking to my sandwich,” she informs him wickedly, earning a groan. She makes a big show of opening the box and savoring a fry, and David _tries_ to wait patiently, he really does, but he’s vibrating a little with restless energy and it’s not his fault that this potentially life-changing decision has been eating away at the back of his mind for days.

“Next time I bring you lunch, I’m going to spit in your food,” he says without heat. He’s actually too nervous to mean it, and Stevie must be able to tell, because she takes pity on him with a long-suffering sigh.

“They’re selling.”

The news hits David like a brick, jaw dropping open and breath knocked out of him. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” she says, wiping her fingers on a napkin and nodding. “That was my reaction too, at first, but it’s not as bad as it sounds. Your dad wants to use some of the money to do major renovations on the motel; the love room needs a total rehaul and we could maybe get around to some other easy things that we’ve been meaning to do forever—taking down the wallpaper and giving everything a fresh coat of paint, upgrading the computer—”

“Wait,” David says, and she freezes. “They’re not… leaving?”

Her smile is gentle, and David adores her so much. He doesn’t know how he would have survived these years without her, her quick wit and straightforwardness and the immense kindness underneath. “Kind of,” she admits. “Have you talked to your mom in the past twenty-four hours?”

David rolls his eyes. “Look, it’s been busy at the store, and phones work both ways, you know! She could have called me at any time—”

“Alright, calm down,” she says, turning to the computer and typing with quick, efficient fingers. A large flattering picture of his mother loads slowly, and underneath, a headline in bold on the _Variety_ website: _The Undercover, Altruistic Life of Moira Rose_.

“What the _fuck_ ,” he says, smile slipping onto his face, nudging in behind the desk too so he can see better.

“It came out yesterday evening,” Stevie explains, grinning too, excitement clear in her voice. “From what I can gather, the guy who I thought was prank calling me? Is actually a diehard _Sunrise Bay_ fan turned serious entertainment journalist. And he did his research—he knows about town council, her performances with the Jazzagals are mentioned, the spring musicals, even Asbestos Fest. There are quotes from Jocelyn, Ray, Twyla… everybody. The stuff about the _Crows_ movie being shelved is in there too: the whole thing basically paints her as this mysterious figure who takes her bad fortune and decided to channel her artistic pain into building up the arts scene of a small community, all out of the goodness of her heart.”

David’s pretty sure his jaw is on the floor right now. “Where is she, why haven’t I heard about this?”

“Oh, she’s at the town hall,” Stevie says, taking a bite of her sandwich and chewing thoughtfully. “She printed off a whole bunch of copies this morning and I’m pretty sure she’s doing a dramatic reading for Roland and Ronnie right now.” Her smile is kind of victorious, and David feels so giddy inside he doesn’t know if he can contain it. She would never admit to it, but he can tell she’s just as happy about this turn of events as he is. “Also, Alexis has been fielding calls for movie offers all day, so that’s why she hasn’t said anything.”

David nods enthusiastically, and finds he almost can’t stop. He can see it for her—the quirky, mysterious Moira Rose who lives in a small town no one’s ever heard of but still turns in the occasional character-driven film performance, who works the soap opera convention circuit and then withdraws back into obscurity to do good, like a superhero retreating back to a secret lair. Slowly working her way back to her beloved cult status. Maybe diehard fans will come here, take selfies by The Moira Roses’ Garden, have lunch at the Cafe in hopes of spotting her and nabbing an autograph. Maybe she’ll even let them. It’s a pretty picture.

“Anyway,” Stevie continues, “Part of the deal with your dad was she wants to move out of the motel. _He_ has spent the morning looking at apartment listings in Elmdale.”

“Ah,” David says, a teasing feeling coming over him as he looks at Stevie. “So today, Elmdale—”

“Tomorrow, the world,” she finishes, both of them breaking into stupid, overcome giggles, and David wants to…

“Oh,” Stevie says, hands flailing slightly like she doesn’t know what to do with them as he hugs her. There’s surprise but happiness and relief in her, and David feels the same. He pulls away quickly to find his best friend looking at him in mock-horror. “I’m sorry, do you need a doctor? What is happening?”

David scrambles out from behind the desk, grabbing the other bag of takeout and heading for the door. He wants to find Alexis, his dad, his mom, he wants to tell Patrick, he wants to _cry_. “Yep,” he replies jokingly. “Might be having a panic attack. Should probably head to Ted’s.”

“Or a _stroke_ , maybe,” Stevie mutters, and with his hand on the doorknob, he turns back to grin at her.

“Thank you,” he says, soft and heartfelt. She just waves him off, turning back to her fries, but he can see that she’s smiling.

//

He bursts into the store with wet eyes. The more he thought about it on the way over the more emotional he got, the conflicting pride and slight sadness all tangled inside him, but when he sees Patrick he can’t help but grin. Even if he’s still crying a little bit at the same time.

“It’s all gonna be okay,” he says from the doorway, all gaspy and overcome, the same way he’d cried when Patrick proposed, embarrassing and helpless to stop it.

Patrick’s smile takes over his features slowly, the same way the light of dawn creeps between the blinds in their bedroom. “David,” he says, and he’s stepping forward, making his way over to him and reaching out. He gets one hand on the back of David’s neck and fists the other in his sweater. He’s holding him so tight, rocking them a little bit, and David’s letting out little gasps as he tries to catch his breath and Patrick turns to kiss his neck tenderly. He feels the slow burn of reassurance through Patrick, and even though he said it himself not more than a minute ago, this is the first time he’s been able to believe it really _will_ all be okay.

“Love you,” he murmurs into Patrick’s hair, and Patrick squeezes him tight.

//

_three weeks later_

The town throws his parents a going away party, because of course they do.

“I’ve said a million times we’re only moving forty-five minutes away! Not to mention that we’ll be here basically every day, what with the motel and all your mother’s affairs and you two,” Dad tells him. Despite his protests, he’s grinning hard. They’re standing outside, watching Stevie and Roland hang up a large banner reading _Goodbye, Roses!_ over the motel sign.

It’s the final touch, really: the party is supposed to start any minute and most of the town is already here. Ted’s over by the grill, flipping burgers, and Alexis is setting up the microphone over on the little makeshift stage. Jocelyn and the Jazzagals are warming up over in the corner. It reminds him a little bit of his wedding, actually—everyone there had the same genuine feelings of excitement and joy for them, and there’s just so much of it that it sings through the air and into David’s chest, settling in sweet and welcome.

“David!” he hears from his left, and he sees his mother striding towards him, waving a printed copy of her article in one hand. Despite the fact that it’s old news by now, she’s still handing them out at random. His eyes do catch on her hands, which are minus her trademark gloves. “David, I need your opinion on my speech,” she says as she bustles over. “Right now it’s slated at exactly twenty-one minutes, but I’m wondering if I should finish with an a capella performance, even at the risk of causing a tsunami of sorrow—”

“Oh god, _tell me_ you’re not thinking of doing that maudlin song from _Wicked_ ,” he says, crossing his arms and pulling a face.

She scoffs. “As if, David. Obviously Sondheim, Stephen always said my voice was transcendent on ‘Goodbye For Now.’”

“Moira!” Bob calls from across the grass, beckoning her over, and she presses a hand to David’s arm in a quick, casual touch.

“To be continued, David, I must go to receive my town council retirement gift—coming, coming, yes, the end of an era!” she calls, stepping over carefully in her stilettos, but David’s arm is still buzzing underneath his sweater with her elation and excitement, two emotions he didn’t really expect her to ever have in regards to a life in here. Even though it’s only forty-five minutes down the road, and he’s sure he’ll be seeing her all the time, he misses her already in that moment. But the thought hits him like a freight train: he wants her to be happy more than he’s afraid for his life to change.

“Mr. Rose!” Stevie calls, and his dad hurries away to hold the ladder so she can climb down, and then David is alone.

He turns around slowly, taking it all in. It’s such a silly, over-the-top gesture, this whole thing, but it feels perfectly Schitt’s Creek. There’s a long buffet of potluck dishes spread out across two dilapidated tables borrowed from the motel, all of which David can’t _wait_ to dig into later. There’s a small little band setting up to the side of the stage, and kids are running around in circles, playing and screaming with delight. People are laughing and talking and David knows all of them: they shop at his store and they came to his wedding and so many of them have been there for his family in so many ways, since they got here. The sun is shining bright enough that he has to squint a little bit in the blushing light; it’s just the sun, it’s definitely not the huge emotion of the moment hitting him, definitely not.

And then a torrent of golden love flows into him, gleaming and exquisite and familiar. He feels the emotion in Patrick before he feels his arms wrap around his waist from behind, before he feels the soft kiss Patrick presses into his neck. “Hi,” he murmurs, and David needs to see him, turns around in his arms with a slow smirk.

“Hi,” he says back, arms going around Patrick’s neck.

“Doing okay?” Patrick asks with a gentle smile, and it’s incredible, really, how Patrick doesn’t even need supernatural abilities to sense what David’s feeling.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks, teasing. The band’s picked up now and Patrick is swaying them slightly to the music, like he thinks maybe David won’t notice. As if David doesn’t make a conscious choice to try and notice as much about Patrick as possible.

“Well, you know, this whole thing. It’s a big deal,” Patrick says, and something about the tone of his voice rings a bell with David. It only takes him a second to figure out why.

“Is it?” he replies, and feels the surge of teasing and fondness through Patrick the way he always does when they’re both in on the game.

“Yeah, it’s pretty big,” he allows, smile coloring his words, and then angles in to kiss him, slow and tender and much too short for David’s liking.

Something shy simmers in him when he pulls away. He looks at David for a second, and then ducks his head, and David has to poke him in the side to get it out. “What?”

“I just,” Patrick tries, cutting himself off with a shrug before meeting David’s eyes again, piercing and honest. “I’m really glad you stayed, David.”

His throat feels tight and he has to blink hard. Patrick gives him so much, every day—not just in cups of coffee and goodnight kisses and careful spreadsheets. Patrick gives him his emotions in a thousand careless touches and in purposeful caresses, willingly, every day, without a second thought. Patrick gives him his whole heart.

“I’m glad you came here,” he says back, his voice choked and broken. The sun is behind Patrick and he’s lit so perfectly, beautiful and smiling and perfect, glowing just like the emotion inside him.

He manages to talk his mother’s overblown goodbye speech down to ten minutes. It’s a tough battle, but the reminder that there is nothing more mortifying than being played off stage does the trick. David makes it through that one okay, but then his dad gets up there with his simple, straightforward thank you to the town. “You’ve all given us so much,” he says with a wide grin. “We’re leaving here with so much more than we came with,” and that’s when David starts to get misty.

The evening wears on and the drinks flow. Roland gets a bonfire going, and Stevie shoots him a knowing, amused look, like she’s remembering the same thing he is. While everyone is gushing over s’mores, Alexis takes the moment, to primly, carefully get down on one knee and ask Ted to marry her. Ted immediately goes laughing and overcome, messy crying as he pulls her up and spins her around as she squeals. David feels the pure thrill and trust radiating from her, so strong he can feel it from ten feet away, and that, more than anything makes him lose it with tears.

The Jazzagals close out the night with a lovely, stripped-down and emotional performance of “Hello Goodbye” that certainly doesn’t help the situation. Even Stevie’s crying by the end of that one, even though she’s sniffling hard and muttering “allergies” to anyone who will listen. David sees his dad pat her arm gently. Patrick murmurs along with the song quietly, only so David can hear, and he swears his heart could burst.

He shoots David a grin when he catches him watching. He reaches over without a second thought and thumbs away the tears spilled over onto David’s lower lashes, pulling him into a quick kiss. “Love you,” he murmurs against David’s lips, and David folds it up and locks the moment in his heart.

It’s all so bittersweet and memorable and heavy and _alive,_ every single second of it. But Patrick holds his hand like an anchor the rest of the night, like if he ties them together tight enough, he can help carry some of the heady feeling flowing through David.

David couldn’t begin to understand why or how, but he thinks it works.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope this lived up to the first part for those of you who enjoyed that one. I doubt I'll write any more in this verse, but to be honest I never thought I'd write this, so I have marked them both as a series just in case! 
> 
> Follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wardowedidit) to help me narrow down all my insane ideas. :)


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